


Fidelity Blues

by neveralarch



Series: Maintain Position [3]
Category: Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: Anal Sex, Cuckolding, M/M, just general horny nonsense tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:16:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29782899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: "Doll," Jazz said. "Sweetcheeks. Hon.Tellme that's not what I think it is."Jazz loves his conjunx Prowl, but Prowl really struggles with complicated relationship terms like 'monogamy' or 'fidelity' or 'please stop saying yes to any rando who asks if he can come on your tits.' Luckily Jazz has a plan to save a little something for himself.(Related to some of my other SG works but can be easily read standalone.)
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl (Transformers), Prowl (Transformers)/Other(s), Prowl/Ratchet (Transformers)
Series: Maintain Position [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1885471
Comments: 22
Kudos: 70





	Fidelity Blues

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains a lot of cucking kink, including cheating and some consent issues, medical/modding kink, referenced public sex, and explicit sex including aft play. It's all treated very lightly for porn purposes, but please let me know if you need any details before reading.

Jazz was lying in Prowl's berth with his feet on the pillows and his visor half-dimmed when Prowl slid open the door and flicked the lights on.

"Finally," said Jazz, sitting up. "I've been waiting for you _forever_ , babe, I thought you mighta got lost ag—"

He paused, taking in the full spectacle of Prowl after what _should've_ been a completely unremarkable shift of paperwork. "Doll," he said. "Sweetcheeks. Hon. _Tell_ me that's not what I think it is."

Prowl followed Jazz's gaze down to stare at his own chest. "Um," he said. "It's transfluid?"

Jazz let out a little wordless hiss of frustration, the steam boiling out of his vents. Prowl gave him a worried look as he ran a finger through the mess decorating his chest and then popped it in his mouth.

"Are you okay?" he mumbled around the finger. "You're making that noise again."

"Am I _okay_?" Jazz managed to clamp his vents. "Babe, you gotta start saying _no_ to these people."

Prowl pouted. "But they _want_ it so bad."

Yeah, Jazz bet they did. Prowl had been pretty hot to start with—huge, magnificent bumper, gorgeous door wings, second in command of the best army to ever devastate the Cybertronian landscape, the complete package. But then Jazz had convinced him to have some chest armor cut away to show off the full, round, _soft_ energon tanks that lay beneath. That, plus his new imitation thruster heels, catapulted Prowl to never-before-seen levels of sexiness. He jiggled when he walked. You couldn't help but stare.

Jazz had felt pretty smug about the whole situation. Let everyone else lust after Prowl, _he_ was the one eating Prowl out in their off-shifts. Only, Prowl didn't seem like he was on the same page.

"I know they want it," said Jazz, trying to dumb it down as much as possible. "That's the whole point, them _wanting_ it and you not _giving_ it."

Prowl scooped up another fingerful of transfluid. "That seems rude. And Mirage was so polite when he asked if he could come on my tits, and then Ricochet—”

Jazz groaned. Fragging _Ricochet_ , he was never gonna hear the end of this. He could just imagine the scene—of course he could, he'd stumbled on something just like it more times than he could count. Prowl on his knees in the corridor with his mouth open and his chest pushed forward, classified datapads neatly stacked next to him on the floor. A growing crowd of generibots with their spikes out, all waiting for their turn to shoot their load over the mech Jazz had _conjunxed_.

Perversely, Jazz's array pinged him for permission to unlock. "Okay," he said, losing interest in the argument. "Fine, yeah, let's talk about it later." He swung his feet down to the floor and patted his thigh. "Come and sit in the Jazzmeister's lap, you can make it up to me instead."

Prowl broke into a smile and tottered over to straddle Jazz's lap. That put Jazz at the perfect height to bury his face in Prowl's energon tanks, and the things were _so_ sexy that it barely even bothered him that he had to wipe off the rest of the transfluid before he could. 

"I'm so into you, can't ever stay mad," he mumbled into Prowl's protoform. His hand crept down to stroke at Prowl's valve panel. "Hey, open up for me, lemme show you a better time than any of those creeps."

Prowl's panel slid open easily, and Jazz sank two fingers in easily to that tight wet heat. Well. Kinda loose wet heat, actually. Really wet. Almost sticky.

Jazz pulled his fingers out and looked at the transfluid on them with a sort of dull resignation. " _Babe_."

Prowl was shifting against Jazz's lap, trying to grind his valve on Jazz's armor. "What?" He looked at Jazz's hand. "Oh! Oh, right, I had a meeting with Optimus today, I forgot to tell you. You can't be annoyed about that, he's the _Prime_."

Jazz grit his teeth. Yeah, fine, he _was_ the Prime. That didn't mean Jazz couldn't be at least a little annoyed about Optimus' tendency to take Prowl's reports with Prowl bouncing and giggling in his lap. They did it in command meetings sometimes, and all Jazz could do was sit there and watch and count how many mechs were self-servicing to the sight.

Optimus _knew_ what he was doing, too. He'd get Prowl to ride him backwards so the whole room could watch the way Prowl's optics flared and his mouth went slack when he overloaded. And Optimus would catch Jazz's gaze over Prowl's shoulder, his smoldering red optics burning a hole into Jazz's spark as he shoved Prowl face down onto the conference table and started to _thrust_...

Jazz's array pinged him again. Slagging thing must be on the fritz. 

"Prowler," he said, getting his fingers back into Prowl and making him gasp, "listen carefully to me, can you do that?"

"Uhuh," said Prowl, his optics glazing as Jazz fragged him slowly.

"I love you," said Jazz. "I do. But ain't you ever heard of fidelity?"

"Uhhh," said Prowl. He squirmed as Jazz paused, his fingers teasing at a node just inside Prowl's valve rim. "Fid—Fiddle? Fiddlelit—”

"That means," said Jazz, curling his fingers, "that I want something for me, babe. For _me_. Hey, you ever thought about getting an aft port put in?"

\---

Prowl peered into the neon-lit lab. "Ratchet?"

Ratchet didn't look up from the processor unit he was currently prying apart with a screwdriver. "What?"

Prowl took a tentative step inside. "Are you busy?" Bothering Ratchet when he was busy was unpleasant. He yelled, and sometimes plotted your murder.

"Just tinkering," said Ratchet. He pushed his tools aside. "Does Optimus need something?"

"It's, um," Prowl couldn't figure out how to phrase it, especially when the bulk of his processor was currently devoted to decrypting the Autobot's emergency broadcast frequency. "It's a personal matter," he tried.

Ratchet gave Prowl a quick up-down look. "I can't make those heels any taller," he said. "You can barely walk with them as it is."

"Oh! No, the heels are good, I'm getting better," said Prowl. He hadn't fallen in over four hours, which was a sixteen percent improvement. "It's—have you ever installed an auxiliary interface port?"

Ratchet snorted. "Have I installed an auxiliary? Please. Pharma, how many interface ports do you have now?"

Ratchet's assistant, Pharma, looked up from where he'd been busy huddling in a corner. "Seven," he said.

"Seven," repeated Ratchet, in a tone that Prowl eventually classified as pride. "You'll never guess where I put the latest one, it's like hide and seek. Here, have a seat." He rolled his chair over to an operating table and patted it.

Prowl sat. "I'm glad you have experience. I've had this array since I was initialized and it's always worked well for _me_ , but Jazz wants—”

"Uhuh, I bet he does," said Ratchet. "Tit window not enough for him, huh? Where's he want the new hole, in here?" He lifted one of Prowl's feet and prodded at the mock thruster.

"No," said Prowl, put off-kilter by the interruption. Ratchet always talked too fast for him, and it wasn't comfortable-fast like Jazz, who was nice to listen to and also slowed down and repeated himself when he actually expected Prowl to pay attention to what he was saying. Ratchet was demanding. He _hated_ repeating himself. Prowl wrenched a larger part of his processor out of the tac unit's decryption program and tried to stay focused on Ratchet. "He was wondering if you could give me an aft port?"

"Ugh, so pedestrian," said Ratchet. "You'd think our chief spy would have more interesting kinks. Go on, then, lie down."

"I think Jazz's kinks are interesting," said Prowl. "Once he asked me to tie him up and then self service in front of him while he begged me to—”

"Really didn't want to know," said Ratchet. "Face down, come on."

Prowl pouted as he laid down. Why did mechs _say_ things if they didn't want a response?

Ratchet's hands were cold as he cupped Prowl's aft. "Plenty of space back here," he said. "All right, lemme get the drill."

The tac unit finished the decryption and presented Prowl with five possibilities for testing when he returned to his office. Then it took note of Prowl's surroundings and prodded him with the memory of the last time he'd asked Ratchet to do an operation. The likelihood of that scenario recuring was extraordinarily high. 

"Can I have a pain patch this time?" asked Prowl.

Ratchet sighed loudly, but when he came back he slapped a pain patch on the back of Prowl's neck. The drilling that followed was pleasantly dull, much better than when Ratchet had taken an angle grinder to Prowl's chest.

Prowl propped his chin up on his hands while he waited for Ratchet to finish. He hoped this would make Jazz happy. Prowl liked it when Jazz was happy, but it was forty-three times harder to make that happen than it was to calculate a new plan to assassinate Megatron. Making _other_ mechs happy was easy—everyone liked having their spike sucked. But then that made _Jazz_ unhappy. But also sort of happy? If Prowl's facial analysis was right? It might be glitching again. Prowl wasn't sure if it was possible to be happy and unhappy at the same time.

Prowl sighed. The tac unit just didn't _do_ emotions. When Prowl tried to get it to calculate the best ways to keep Jazz secure in their relationship, it only suggested stasis cuffs.

Ratchet slapped his aft, the sensation still muted through the pain patch. "Done with the drilling. Open your valve for me, I need to splice in the wiring if you want sensation."

Prowl slid open his valve panel. It felt weird when Ratchet popped a couple rivets so he could get under the valve lining, so Prowl shut off his optics and got lost in his calculations for a while. He'd generated predictions for the next six weeks of Autobot raids when Ratchet slapped his aft again.

"Done!" said Ratchet, cheerfully. "Ready for the patch to come off?"

He didn't wait for a response before ripping it away. Prowl's optics flared back online as sensation flooded into his frame—the dull ache of fresh rivets in his valve, the tingling around his new port. But those were nothing compared to the overwhelming arousal Prowl abruptly could feel reaching up from his array and into his spark. His valve lips were plump and wet from being roughly handled, and the new wiring in his aft port was sparking with fresh charge. He bit his lip on a gasp.

He hoped Jazz was lurking in his room again. He needed to be fragged _immediately_.

"Thank you, Ratchet," he managed, pushing himself up gingerly on his elbows. "Excellent work. I'll just—”

Ratchet pressed him back down with one hand on his back. "Not so fast," he said. "Gotta take it for a test drive, first."

"Test drive?" Prowl tried to twist to look at Ratchet, but he was well-pinned. The tac unit generated five foolproof escape methods, each with an unfortunately high likelihood of severe injury to Ratchet. Prowl would definitely get in trouble if he tore Ratchet's arm off. "I don't know if—”

"Just to make sure all the parts are in working order." Ratchet ran a finger around the rim of Prowl's new port. "Wouldn't want to send you back to Jazz anything less than fully functional." 

That _did_ make sense. Prowl was contemplating his response when Ratchet paused in his gentle, soothing circles and pressed his finger just a little bit _in_.

Prowl choked on air. It felt so good _already_ , and he _needed_ to be fragged, Ratchet was _such_ a good doctor—

"Wait," said Prowl, struggling to swim up out of the tide of arousal. "Jazz, um. Jazz wanted it fiddled, or something? Like, not-fragged?"

"Don't worry." Ratchet yanked Prowl's hips up with his other hand, leaving Prowl on his knees with his face mashed down against the operating table. There was a whirring noise as the table lowered to Ratchet's groin-height. "Jazz will understand. It's a completely standard procedure, do it all the time when I put a new port in. Right, Pharma?"

Pharma was glaring at Prowl from his corner, which _wasn't_ an answer, but—But. But talking was hard and getting fragged was easy and Prowl _needed_ it.

"It's not self-lubricating like your valve," said Ratchet. He shoved three fingers into Prowl's valve and pumped them a few times, as if to demonstrate by the loud squelch that resulted. "Good thing you're so wet down there."

Prowl moaned as Ratchet pulled his fingers out and swiped lubricant over Prowl's aft port. Then there was a clicking noise that the tac unit immediately identified as a medical lube cap opening. Prowl's valve contracted hungrily and he squirmed, wanting Ratchet's fingers back. He stilled when he felt the broad wet head of Ratchet's spike resting against his aft.

"Deep vent," said Ratchet, and started pushing his way in.

Prowl didn't vent at _all_. Ratchet felt so much bigger than he'd felt any of the times he'd fragged Prowl's valve—the tac unit was audibly whirring as it tried to determine Prowl's new port dimensions and whether he could get Optimus to frag him there. Prowl tried to tell it that this was for _Jazz_ , but the new calipers in Prowl's aft were straining as Ratchet forced them to open and it was impossible to have his own thoughts when he was so stuffed with spike. The fresh lining of his port felt like it was connected to a thousand wires, all of them sparking against the ridges of Ratchet's shaft. Ohh, Prowl felt like he was overheating. Oh! It was because he needed to vent!

"Primus," gritted out Ratchet. "Primus, I'm good." His hips met Prowl's aft as he bottomed out. He stilled for a moment, a perfect moment where the tac unit paused in its calculations and there was nothing but _fullness_.

Then Ratchet grabbed Prowl's hips with both hands and started to thrust so hard that Prowl's cheek scraped against the medical berth. Prowl overloaded immediately with a wail. Ratchet didn't slow down.

Sometime around Prowl's third or fourth overload, the medbay door whooshed open. Prowl onlined one bleary optic to see Drift framed in the doorway.

"What's going on?" said Drift. "I heard the screaming and I thought it didn't sound like Pharma or any of the prisoners, so—Oh, wow."

"Yeah, wow," groaned Ratchet. "You gotta take this new port for a spin, I've outdone myself."

"Don't mind if I do." Drift grinned and stepped inside, letting the medbay door close behind him. Prowl could see his spike already starting to pressurize. "Hey, Prowl, open your mouth. I wanna be hard and ready for you after Ratchet blows his load."

This time, Prowl didn't stop to think. He just opened his mouth and let himself be used.

\--

Jazz stared miserably at where Prowl was twisting to look at his own aft in the mirror. The new port did look good, bordering on the obscene—Ratchet hadn't bothered putting a cover over it, just a reflexive iris that opened when you touched it. Combined with the way Prowl's heels made his aft stick out when he stood, the port basically begged everyone who saw it to bend Prowl over and frag it.

It was also, obviously, already well-used. Prowl's whole aft was one big scuff-mark.

Prowl darted a worried glance at Jazz's face. "Don't you like it?"

"Yeah, babe, I like it," said Jazz. He scrubbed his hands over his audial horns. Fragging Ratchet. Fragging Drift. Fragging— "Did you say Pharma fragged you too?"

"Uhuh," said Prowl. He abandoned the mirror and sashayed over to where Jazz was sitting on Prowl's berth to straddle his lap. "Do you want me to tell you about it?"

"Yeah, I guess," grumbled Jazz. Might as well have a complete picture of his humiliation.

Prowl cocked his helm and bit his lip. He looked like he was thinking hard—probably about troop movements or duty rosters or whatever, Jazz knew that his work never stayed in the office. 

"Come on," said Jazz, all of a sudden impatient. "Just go ahead and tell me."

"Okay," said Prowl. "Whatever you want." He put his hands on Jazz's bumper and pushed until Jazz was lying down, looking up at him. His hips swayed as he started to grind against Jazz's panel.

"It was after Ratchet's second turn," he said. "He put a leash on Pharma's collar and brought him over to me. Pharma's got a nice long spike, with all these piercings where Ratchet's modded him. He was already pressurized just from watching Ratchet take my hole. After Ratchet put Pharma's spike in my aft, he clipped the leash to the table so Pharma could barely move, you know? And then Ratchet started fucking _Pharma_..."

There was a mortifying click as Jazz's spike panel opened. "Yeah?" he said. His voice was all raspy for some unknowable reason. "What happened next?"

Prowl smiled. "I love it when you're happy," he said, bafflingly, and then got on with the story.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this fic, please let me know! You can also share it on [DW](https://neveralarch.dreamwidth.org/112661.html), [Tumblr](https://neveralarch.tumblr.com/post/644476916316946432/fidelity-blues-neveralarch-transformers), or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/neveralarch/status/1363932394722648078).


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